That crazy man is up on a ladder cleaning his gutters in the morning chill wearing well-worn faded jeans slung low on his narrow hips, his work boots… and that’s it. Yep, he is gloriously naked from the waist up and I’m pretty sure my ovaries just deployed troops to receive boarders. I’m so thankful he’s facing away from me; I don’t think I’d be able to remain standing at the sight of the delicious set of abs I’m sure he’s sporting. His broad shoulders and the lean muscles of his back ripple and move have me absolutely mesmerized. His back is surprisingly free of ink, but I can see some curling up his sides and over his shoulders. My eyes follow down his spine and… god damn I want to lick those little dimples at the base of his spine.
Did I really just say that? Lick his freakin’ back dimples? Ah fuck it. Yes, yes I did, and dammit I want to lick those little fuckers while sinking my fingers into that deliciously tight ass of his.
If I thought the view from the back was delicious, I’m seriously not prepared for the heart stopping, drool worthy, wondrous sight of his naked chest when he turns to throw something down into the snow. I swear that man is chiseled from marble. He makes me think of some Greek warrior, like those guys in that 300 movie. You know, the one where they have abs so deep you could just curl up and take a nap between them? Yeah. I want to feed him peeled grapes and fan him with palm fronds.
What the fuck is wrong with you?! Calm your tits you insane thirsty bitch! Don’t you dare forget his corkscrew cock!
No. Screw the corkscrew cock, I don’t care right now. This man’s chest is a work of art; it’s strong, defined, and covered in scrolling tattoos that curl up his arms, over his shoulders and continue onto his chest and reach down along his ribs. At this distance, I can’t make out what any of them are, but the effect is stunning. I want to trace the lines with my fingertips while curled around him. Hell, I want to trace them with my tongue.
I should stay right here. Right damn here. Yep. Moving would be a terrible idea. Totally ill advised. But you know, there is this dirty screen over the window, it may be distorting the view. If I looked from the front door maybe I could assist with his cleaning efforts, see if he missed a spot or something. Yeah. It’s really the only neighborly thing to do, offer some assistance that is. Checking on Evan as I pass, he’s happily playing with his toys which are covered in drool, before I go to the front door and ease it open as quietly as possible, can’t alert the object of my stalking to my presence.
Mr. Abs-For-Days has turned back to his task and I’m left staring at the glorious lines of his back again. I seriously don’t know how he can get that much definition. How does he have time to do anything but work out? He’s sporting muscles where I didn’t even know they existed. And for the love of god, those back dimples at the base of his spine are just taunting me now.
Sawyer turns and looks down the road and I hear the sound of pipes rumbling down the street, but I’m too busy watching the way his muscles ripple and move as he hangs from the ladder by one hand to care about a bike. I swear to God I feel my entire body respond to this man, everything tingles, every nerve ending becoming aware and primed for him.
Do you want more babies? Cuz that man is how you get more babies.
A motorcycle pulls up to the curb in front of Sawyer’s place and a man in a Forsaken Sons Cut gets off the bike. When he takes off his helmet, I get a view of an overly long mess of dirty blonde waves.
Seriously, are all the Sons ridiculously good looking? Do you have to audition or something? How the hell can he get his hair to look like that after wearing a helmet and I can’t make it do anything when I spend an hour on it?
Of course, being the nosy little wench that I am, I can’t leave well enough alone. Nope, I need to hear what the hell Goldilocks is saying to Leonidas. Maybe I can open the screen door just a crack, just enough to hear a little. It’s quiet enough on the street their voices should carry right? Totally. Yep, that’s absolutely what I’ll do. Holding my breath and with a quick glance back at Evan, I ease the screen door open an inch and it thankfully moves soundlessly.
Score! See? Best idea I’ve had all morning. Go me.
With a cocky smile on my face I push the door a little harder and am rewarded with the loudest screech of rusty metal hinges that I have ever heard in my life. I freeze in terror and send up a prayer to whatever deity might listen that the men didn’t hear that. But of course, all the gods out there are looking down and laughing their asses off at the stupid chick who is too nosy for her own good. Both men immediately turn and look in my direction when they hear the unearthly squeal from my door.
Please, let the earth open up and swallow me whole right damn now. My mind shuts down as our eyes lock and I can’t move. I stand there struck dumb for another couple of heartbeats, completely under the spell of Sawyer’s amused smirk. My eyes go wide with panic and I hear myself let out an awkward squeak before I slam the front door and dive for the living room floor.
I land face down on the rug near Evan and lay there with my forehead pressed into the rug. Evan giggles again and I roll my way toward him, looking up at his little toothless grin. When he sees me looking, he lets out another squeal and flails his limbs as he giggles at me.
“Yeah, yeah. I know buddy. Mommy is a loser. A certifiably insane loser. Laugh it up, I deserve it,” I groan, rolling my face back into the rug and closing my eyes.
Well, today is a good day to die of mortification, right? Yeah. Well done dipshit.
Chapter 8
Sawyer
Caught ya Babydoll
Tessa’s front door slams shut as she disappears into her house again and I can’t help but smile. My satisfaction is short lived when I hear the cackling of the asshole coming up my sidewalk. Fuck me. Of course, the bastard had to drive by right now. I swear he has “Sawyer is doing stupid shit” radar, fuckin’ Spidey senses or something. Gage has no reason to be riding down this goddamn street; the universe hates me.
I close my eyes and take a breath before looking down at the hyena below me. I watch Gage stumble up my front walk, clutching his sides as he laughs his ass off. He stops a few feet from the foot of my ladder and looks up at me, letting out a long cat call whistle. I’m so in for it.
“How’re ye Brother?” he drawls up at me with a shit eating grin on his face.
“What do ya want Gage?” I say, trying to sound bored in the faint hope he will give up and go away. Useless I know, but worth a shot.
The bastard looks up at me for another long moment, that grin on his face only growing as he steps back, throws his arms wide, and puts on a posh British accent as he calls out, entirely too loudly.
“Shall I compare thee to a winter’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more frostbit
Rough winds do shake the frozen nips of Bae
And Sawyer thou hath all too small a prick”
The fucker stumbles backward and almost falls ass first into the snow after I peg him in the face with a snowball. His cackling increases ‘til his howls echo down the street and I can see tears streaming down his face.
“Fuck Gage. The Bard would spin in his grave if he heard that shit.”
“Oh, come now, I’m just takin’ the piss. Ye know I’m brilliant, Ol’ Willie would be tickled to hear my improvements,” he snickers, wiping the snow from his face.